


How They Made Her

by chronicDevil (chronicAngel)



Series: Leaves in the Summer [42]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Caves, F/M, POV Third Person, Rain, SasuSaku Month 2017, Sex In A Cave, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2019-01-28 19:57:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12614264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronicAngel/pseuds/chronicDevil
Summary: "Mama, how did you and Papa make me?"SasuSaku Month 2017 Days 11 & 12: Shelter From The Rain & Lights Out, Words Gone





	How They Made Her

**Author's Note:**

> This fic honestly stemmed from a conversation I had with my friends about how Sakura and Sasuke would have the sex talk with Sarada.

"Mama, how did you and Papa make me?"

Sakura chokes on her tea, coughing as she chides herself that tea is for drinking, not for breathing, and then she gives her daughter a twisted look of confusion. "What?"

"How did you and Papa make me?" Her tone is clear, and her voice is louder, as though if she says it louder, her mother will be more likely to understand and answer (of course, Sakura _knows_ what she's asking, it's just such a jarring thing to hear her four-year-old ask and she can't help but think privately that she wishes Sasuke hadn't left for his long mission again a couple of weeks ago). "I wanna know!"

"Why?" She says, tone full of amusement, though internally the gears are turning as she tries to figure out how to explain sex and reproduction to a child so young; the doctor in her wants to explain it just as logically as she would to any teenager who found themselves in a bad situation, but somehow she thinks that won't go over well with Sasuke the next time they talk. "Are you looking at making one?"

Her nose wrinkles in an expression of disgust that Sakura remembers from when she and Sasuke were much younger, and it actually makes her smile. "Of course I'm not!" Sarada sounds indignant at the implication, and Sakura has to try very hard not to snort.

 _How did we make you?_ Sakura reflects, thinking back. _I think it was the hot spring... Then again, she was born in March, so maybe it was that time at the Naka shrine when we went home for a couple of days for Itachi's birthday. I'm not sure we even went to see anyone..._ If Sarada is getting impatient with Sakura's reflection, she does a very good job of hiding it, sitting across the table from her with her pudgy hands folded patiently in front of her like the good cop in a good cop/bad cop pair of the Torture and Interrogation unit. _No, that can't have been it, the timing is weeks off... It must have been that time in Ame,_ she settles, looking down at her tiny daughter's coltish eyes. Her cheeks flush a bit as memories flood back to her.

* * *

She lifts her hand out in front of her when she feels a fat droplet of water land on her cheek, and she looks over at her husband when a couple of tears of rain beat steadily against her palm. "I think it's going to rain, Sasuke-kun," the observation is as obvious as it is seemingly necessary, as he tears his gaze from the sky to look at her. His eyes are filled with an adoration she is not used to from Sasuke, or from anyone at all, for that matter; even her parents look at her with the loving fondness of a parent, and not the utter awe of a spouse. They have been married for six months and she still finds her cheeks heating up whenever he looks at her like that, because she is not used to feeling like Sasuke genuinely looks at her, and she doesn't think she ever will be.

"So it is," he agrees, and they stay quiet for a moment as she waits for him to elaborate on the plan. They are only a couple of miles outside of Amegakure, but they both know that the rainy season started a few weeks ago and what may seem like a mild storm could just as easily turn into an all-out tsunami in the time it would take them to reach the village. "There is a place nearby where we can take shelter. You don't need to be getting sick again."

Her mind drifts to only a couple of weeks ago, when she was stuck in bed for the better half of a week. She shudders and quickly nods her agreement, then follows him to a small clearing as the rain begins to pick up.

They set up the camp together, and then it is her task to wash their clothes in the nearby lake before the storm becomes too heavy. In the end, she only gets about half of them done, traveling back the cave in defeat, qipao clinging to her skin with wet and basket of clothes dripping. She will have to dry them after the storm halts, though that could very well be days from now. Her mouth almost waters at the smell of cooking fish, and Sasuke knowingly drapes his cloak over her shoulders when she steps inside; it is quite possible that Sakura is always cold. That's what he seems to think anyway, likely because she is always clinging to him and complaining about how unfair it is that he's so warm.

They eat in silence, but it is a comfortable silence, very unlike the ones from when they were genin and she was always trying to fill it with idle chatter just so she wouldn't have to put up with the tense air that often rang between Sasuke and Naruto. At some point, she finds herself moving closer to him. The fire is a good enough source of heat toward the beginning of the storm, but it feels much less genuine than the warmth her husband can provide and so she simply presses into his side and is grateful when he doesn't complain about it like he might have, again, when they were genin. She isn't sure when she ends up in his lap, with his sole arm wrapped around her hips naturally as she presses her face into his shoulder to keep her small nose from getting cold enough to run. Her fingers curl into his shirt. She breathes in his scent. She's more comfortable than she has been in a long while.

She's not sure what leads her to decide that biting the skin of his shoulder is a good idea, but she can feel a distinct warmth radiate from the back of his neck when she does, and so she bites again and again until she's leaving soft blemishes along the skin of his collarbones. After all, they have been married for six months and the way that he looks at her with complete adoration drives her wild.

His lone hand trails up her spine, making her shiver, and then catches her hair, tugging her head back to reveal her jugular and making her yelp in surprise, though not pain. She can feel sharp eyes linger on her throat for a moment until she feels surprisingly sharp teeth scrape against her skin.

Surprisingly, she feels warmer with no clothes on, straddling her husband's hips and wearing a smirk while he blushes underneath her, his face as red as his favorite fruit and his eyes as wide as her own whenever he praised her as children. She drags her nails lightly against his chest, leaving behind raw trails of pink skin, and she relishes in the way he shudders and his mouth forms a silent 'oh'.  She relishes in the way she can tear her name from his lips by leaning in and brushing her mouth over a spot on his neck where she's left a deep red mark just above his collarbone. She relishes in the way he draws sighs from her lips and moans from her throat when she finally bears down on him, an artificial heat pooling in the pit of her stomach like fire.

She doesn't even notice the actual fire has gone out until twenty minutes after he mutters out the three syllables she has learned she most loves hearing in his voice, "Sa... ku... ra..." She loves the way she can break him, the way she can make him break himself, and she tips her head back and lets out a loud cry as she feels warmth wrap around her like a blanket and fill her like a hot meal. Her hands are pressed into his shoulders, her fingertips leaving bruises behind, and he doesn't ask her to heal them so she doesn't simply as evidence that she has been there. It's like leaving a flag behind on concurred land even when you're planning to occupy it. She collapses next to him, air filled with the musk of sex and hair a wild, sweaty mess, and she buries her face in his neck with a tired smile. She suspects it's just another fever when she vomits three weeks later.

* * *

 

"Mama?" She snaps back into reality at her child's tiny voice, face entirely red, blush creeping down her neck as she chews on her lip and returns to the task of trying to offer a plausible answer to her daughter's question.

"It's not like we made you in a factory, Sarada!" She chews on her lip, wondering if that would have been a simpler answer. "We were just outside of Amegakure. Your father and I loved each other very much," she hesitates, then adds, "but obviously not as much as we love each other now. Because we loved each other so much, we got you." And she supposes that's as honest an answer as she can give.


End file.
